A Day in My Life
by Senna Raye
Summary: This story is actually more of a journal entry... it's everything I went through on the day of our first competition. The highs, the lows, the good and the bad.


My alarm went off at 6 AM and I rolled out of bed, still half asleep, and felt the burning soreness in my legs. Stupid marching practices, I thought. I slapped my alarm clock and headed for my door until I realized it was Saturday. I didn't have school, and band practice didn't start for another four hours. I fought back a curse and returned to bed, but it was too late. I was up now, and the excitement of festival day had now taken a hold of me. I spent about an hour flipping channels on the TV, but nothing was on. It wouldn't have held my interest anyway. I took a shower around 7 and then nervously nibbled a pop tart until the rest of my family woke up. My little brother had a football game that day, too, so he was nearly as nervous as I was. I walked around in circles, listened to some Dave Matthews, and played a couple of hands of solitaire to try to calm myself down. Finally it was 9:30, so my mom drove me up to the school for our pre- contest practice. I got there to find that our director was running late and that we were locked out of the school until he arrived. I stood with a group of my friends in the parking lot and tried to make small talk as we waited, but my mind was just not there. I had a good feeling about our performance today. We had worked so hard on our show, and I just knew that we were going to do well. Mr. Becker finally arrived, and we all hiked down to our sad excuse of a practice field. We set up in a horn arc for warm ups, and he gave us a little pep talk. Then we broke up into sectionals. Being the clarinet field leader I tried my hardest to get my section focused and pumped for what we were going to do today. The poor freshmen looked like they were one step from wetting their pants; they were so nervous. We did a couple of run-throughs of the show, and then broke up around noon for lunch. The clarinets had a little picnic in the band room, which was fun. After an hour it was time to get into uniform. Throw on the white Steve Urkel pants. Tie the ugly pointy-toed roll step shoes. Find my hat. Secure my plum. Put the blue jacket onto a hanger and jump on the bus. Do I have my instrument? No. Run back to the band room, run back to the bus. Do I have my gloves? Run there, run back. Okay, now I was all ready. The buses pulled out of the school. We drove out to Lafayette High School, which was about a half an hour drive. People were talking, laughing, and telling bad jokes the whole way there, but I tuned them out. Even after doing this nearly a dozen times, its still nerve wracking going to a competition. Warm ups in the parking lot at 3 o'clock. It's all kind of a blur now. I was excited about going on the field, and as we were heading into a parade block, I ran around giving random band geeks hugs. March to the field. The little freshman next to me looked like she was about to faint. I smiled at her and told her she was going to do just fine. Through the gate. To the back sideline. March onto the field. The announcer is rambling on about concessions and announcements. I reach my spot. "Drum Majors, is the band ready?" Kim salutes and then we're off. I marched my butt off then. I didn't hold anything back. I played as much as I could. I hit every spot and not once did I find myself 5 yards off. I reached the last set and felt great about what had just happened. The crowd cheered as we marched off the field. The moment I walked out of the gate it hit me. Our show is a very demanding one, and I had never done the whole thing in full wool uniform, especially not when it was 92 degrees out. I was so hot, the sweat was running into my eyes, and I felt faint. While we were taking the full band picture, the world around me seemed to be spinning. But after quite a few deep breaths, and three cups of water, I began to feel a little better. After pictures we walked over to the fence to watch the last band, then prepare ourselves for the awards. After what seemed like an eternity, the drum majors walked out onto the track. And now the real hell began. They started with the A Division. Best Marching Award. Best Music Award. Best Percussion Award. Best Auxiliary Award. Third Place. Second Place. First Place. Then they would move on to Double A, and then to Triple A. We were in Open Division and in for the longest wait of all. So we stood there at parade rest while we prayed, crossed our fingers, and chatted in nervous whispers. They finally reached the Open awards. We were called to attention just before they gave out the best marching award. We didn't win it. Best music went to some other band. And we didn't have the best percussion, or the best auxiliary. But that still didn't mean that we didn't place. So we all stood there with our eyes squeezed closed and our hopes mustered. We listened for the announcer. Third place went to someone else. We didn't come in second. And then they gave the first place trophy away without ever mentioning our name. A tear fell down my face then, and this one freshman clarinet, Matt, looked back at me just in time to see it. He put on the saddest look that it made me want to cry even more, but then I remembered that we still had a chance. The top 12 scores would go on to compete in finals, as the announcer was explaining, and then he began going down the list. I counted as he mentioned the name of each qualifying band. One. Two. Three. It was like torture to have to stand there and listen. Eight. Nine. Ten. About then I just lost all hope. I knew we would be one of those sad groups of people who had to be back at school a little earlier than expected. We really hadn't made finals. Eleven. I let loose the tears I had been holding back, and I dropped my head to my chest in defeat. And just when I lost all hope in our band, the announcer spoke up. ".and Parkway South." Twelve. We had made it to finals. Everyone around me cheered as I started crying even harder. They were toying with me, weren't they?! They just wanted to drag it out as long as possible and drive me completely insane. A few of my friends all gathered around me when they saw how upset I was. They were all talking at once, and I don't remember what any were saying; I just remember me crying out, "I really didn't think we'd make it." So then it was back to the buses. A few band moms saw me crying and thought I was sick, so they sat me down on a bench and brought me water. They started unbuttoning my coat so that I could cool off and were all fussing over me. I didn't bother to tell them that I was just being over emotional. Mr. Becker came back with our standings. Turns out we were fifth in our division, out of six, and that we were seventh over all. Our goal had been to be in the top six. So close, and yet so far. But the day wasn't over, as our director kept reminding us. Prelims was just the warm up. The real performance would be that evening. We were assigned as the fifth band to perform, at 7:15, so we didn't have time to change to eat. We all hiked up to the concession stands in just our band pants- something I really hate to do. It looks very unprofessional to walk around in a band camp t-shirt and our white uniform pants. But we did anyway. I found my parents in the crowd, and they tried to assure me that the show went well, and that we would do great in finals. I didn't believe them. I was completely depressed. I was tired, and I didn't have the energy to go out there and do everything all over again. I even wished we hadn't made finals. I didn't eat. I walked back up to the buses and put on my jacket, hat, and gloves, found that I had broken the reed on my instrument and had to go around begging for someone to loan me one, and then I walked up to our warm- up area. Now it was time to put my leader face on. I had to be strong for my section, no matter how badly I felt otherwise. The clarinets got together for a little pep talk, and I went around being all jumpy and hyper, trying to get everyone's spirits up. "You need to get the right attitude to march well; you need to go out there believing that you are going to knock every other band's socks off! I want to hear you say that you are going to march the best show ever!" Pretending to be pumped was actually helping me. I was lying so well that I started to believe that I actually was happy and excited. We marched down to the stadium and my hopes soared again. Who cares where we stand, just as long as we do our best, and maybe move up a little in the ratings. Mentally I was ready to march that show, but not physically. I was fighting fatigue the whole way. My legs felt like they would give out, but I wouldn't let them. My arms were sore, but I just held my instrument higher. I may have struggled to stay in tempo, but I believe that I really did a good job on that show- perhaps even better than my prelims performance. I walked off the field utterly exhausted, but rather proud of myself. Back to the bus again. We all hurried to change out of uniform, but we found that it isn't exactly easy to change on an overly crowded bus with no lights on. We disregarded the "no unisex changing rooms" rule, and boys and girls alike squeezed together between the seats and in the aisle. I could barely stand, and I have no idea how I was ever able to get out of uniform and into my khaki shorts and blue polo shirt, but somehow I survived. Some people just gave up and decided to change in the parking lot. Lucky for us, the band parents weren't around yet, so no one threatened to sue. There was no "Oh my God, my daughter was changing on a bus filled with boys!" or "How could they let my son change clothes in the middle of a parking lot?" Usually the band parents make things easier for us, but not always. So we all got out of uniform and headed back to the stands to watch the remainder of the bands. I walked back up with my friend Lauren from the color guard. She offered to buy me a Sprite, then we went and sat on the audience side for a little while with her mom and sister. We watched one band who did a Posideon-themed show, and although their music sounded great and they had big props that probably cost them hundreds of dollars in unnecessary expences (I'm against bands with big props and sound systems, if you were wondering. No offence if you belong to one of those bands.), their marching and color guard were just terrible. There was nothing all that difficult in what they were doing, and when that one time where they had to stretch their feet beyond an 8-to-5 step came, they were leaping like it were impossibly far. Their blue plumes were bouncing all over the place. And don't get me started on the foot fazing. Plus their color guard was never together, as Lauren pointed out to me. Her mom heard us and said that this was the band that came in first place in the Open Division. Oh, great. After that we left her mom in the stands and headed back toward the buses. Lauren's contacts were bothering her. She got on her bus to take them off, and I got onto mine to try to hunt down my little baggie of motrin. There were no lights on still, and someone had left their bag right in the middle of the aisle. Of course, I did not see this bag as I tripped right over it and practically banged my nose on the ground. I swear there is someone out to get me. We walked back to the stadium and sat with our band in the visitor's seats. It was getting kind of cold out, and I completely forgot to bring a sweater or jacket. I saw my friend Heather snuggled up against a trombone player, looking very happy indeed. That made me feel even colder and a tad sorry for myself. I've never had anyone to keep me warm like that. Sigh. We then watched the backs of several bands. Our rivals, Parkway West came out and put on just about the most boring and easiest show I had ever seen. They had nearly as many holds as moves, and they even had some girl come out and sing! She wasn't even a part of the band; she just came out and sang a little song, then went back and sat in a chair on the sidelines. Now, if there is one thing I hate more than huge props, it is having people sing in a marching band. Last year this same competition was won by a band who dropped all their instruments and stood dead still as they sang Simple Gifts. I don't see singing as a part of marching band. And I've always hated that song to begin with (Tis a gift to be simple, tis a gift to be freeeeee, blah blah blah). Once all the bands were done performing, it was finally time for the final awards. Mr. Becker called us to attention. They announced twelfth, eleventh, and tenth place- each time we prayed our hearts out that they wouldn't call our name, and so far they hadn't. Then the announcer said that there was a tie for eighth place. We all prayed again, but this time it didn't work. "With a score of 75.15, Parkway South and Northwest!" I felt tears well up. Oh, come on Sarah, I thought, don't start that again! I listened to the rest of the awards as I was sniffling. Parkway West came in 6th. And of course 1st place went to the Posideon band. You know, in reality it is not bad at all to come in eighth out of 25 bands. It's pretty good actually. But my mind wasn't working that way just then. We had dropped down a spot, and if we had lost one hundredth of a point more, we would have dropped two. Our goal had been to make the top six, so of course we didn't make that. Our rivals had beaten us yet again. And we had done worse than last year. Last year we had made fifth place. How could that be possible? I thought we were doing so much better this year, and I am certainly working harder now than I ever did a year ago. Oh, and that band we tied with? They were from the A Division, they consisted of a 38 member horn line, and they had all dressed up like Indians. My mom told me they had put on a very cute show, but they in no way deserved to tie with us. Talk about adding insult to injury. So I walked back to the buses for the last time. I had it stuck in my mind that our band sucked big time. I was in a lot of pain and my knees had swollen up. I felt stupid for having people see me crying. Someone remind me again why all this is worth it? The drive home was just as noisy as the ride there was, but I spent the whole time tuning them out and staring out the window. It was dark out, and a cold breeze was blowing on my face as I looked at the moon. I love looking at the moon, especially while in a car. Or a bus, I should say. I remembered how much fun our bus ride to Florida was my freshman year. How we had spent 22 hours on that bus playing pointless games, talking about this and that, watching movies, and trying very hard to get everyone to shut up and go to sleep at 2 in the morning. And then when we got to Florida we had the time of our lives, hitting the theme parks, marching in the Main Street Electrical Parade, and going to the Gator Bowl. And I remembered how we all went nuts with excitement when we came in second place in our field competition down there. Last year we had come in first place in a prelims performance and we all jumped around screaming and hugging. And we had won a best woodwinds award at another competition. All my friends had celebrated with me. I had a lot of friends in band, and they all loved me. We always made band a lot of fun. That was why I loved being here. Sure I was still depressed when we pulled back into the school parking lot, but I was feeling a tad better. We had done pretty well for our first competition, and now we had two weeks to prepare and improve for the next. One down, four more to go. 


End file.
